Theocritus

Biography of Theocritus

Theocritus was an Hellenistic Greek poet. The history of the pastoral begins with him, and in him the form seems to have reached its height.

Theocritus was probably born in an early decade of the third century,
or, according to Couat, about 315 B.C., and was a native of Syracuse,
'the greatest of Greek cities, the fairest of all cities.' So Cicero
calls it. He was the son of Praxagoras and Philinna.

Most of what is known of Theocritus comes from his Idylls. His poetic style is filled with the characters and nature which surrounded him. The existence
he loved best to contemplate, that of southern shepherds, fishermen, rural people, remains what it always has been in Sicily and in the isles of Greece. The habits and the passions of his countryfolk have not altered, the echoes of their old love-songs still sound among the pines, or by the sea-banks, where Theocritus 'watched the visionary flocks.'

Theocritus has been widely imitated by such poets as Vergil and Spenser.

Theocritus Poems

Idyll XXX
When Cypris saw Adonis,
In death already lying
With all his locks dishevelled,
And cheeks turned wan and ghastly,

Idyll XII
Art come, dear youth? two days and nights away!
(Who burn with love, grow aged in a day.)
As much as apples sweet the damson crude
Excel; the blooming spring the winter rude;

The Sorceress
Where are the bay-leaves, Thestylis, and the charms?
Fetch all; with fiery wool the caldron crown;
Let glamour win me back my false lord's heart!
Twelve days the wretch hath not come nigh to me,

For a Statue of the Heavenly Aphrodite
Aphrodite stands here; she of heavenly birth;
Not that base one who's wooed by the children of earth.
'Tis a goddess; bow down. And one blemishless all,
Chrysogone, placed her in Amphicles' hall:

The Serenade
I pipe to Amaryllis; while my goats,
Tityrus their guardian, browse along the fell.
O Tityrus, as I love thee, feed my goats:
And lead them to the spring, and, Tityrus, 'ware

Love Stealing Honey
Once thievish Love the honeyed hives would rob,
When a bee stung him: soon he felt a throb
Through all his finger-tips, and, wild with pain,
Blew on his hands and stamped and jumped in vain.

A Countryman's Wooing
THE MAIDEN.
How fell sage Helen? through a swain like thee.
DAPHNIS.
Nay the true Helen's just now kissing me.

Heracles the Lion Slayer
To whom thus spake the herdsman of the herd,
Pausing a moment from his handiwork:
'Friend, I will solve thy questions, for I fear
The angry looks of Hermes of the roads.

The Battle of the Bards
COMETAS.
Goats, from a shepherd who stands here, from Lacon, keep away:
Sibyrtas owns him; and he stole my goatskin yesterday.

Epitaph of Eusthenes
Here the shrewd physiognomist Eusthenes lies,
Who could tell all your thoughts by a glance at your eyes.
A stranger, with strangers his honoured bones rest;
They valued sweet song, and he gave them his best.
All the honours of death doth the poet possess:
If a small one, they mourned for him nevertheless.

Harvest-Home
Once on a time did Eucritus and I
(With us Amyntas) to the riverside
Steal from the city. For Lycopeus' sons
Were that day busy with the harvest-home,

The Death of Adonis
Cythera saw Adonis
And knew that he was dead;
She marked the brow, all grisly now,
The cheek no longer red;

The Giant's Wooing
Methinks all nature hath no cure for Love,
Plaster or unguent, Nicias, saving one;
And this is light and pleasant to a man,
Yet hard withal to compass-minstrelsy.